


The Banshee

by bansheequeen (xLexiChan)



Series: Murder Wolf [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Modern AU, Murder, Mythology - Freeform, banshee - Freeform, mentally unwell, serial killer au, short fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xLexiChan/pseuds/bansheequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia is mentally unstable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Banshee

**Author's Note:**

> I've been craving Serial Killer Teen Wolf.

When Lydia was little, she went through a lot of therapy, a lot of Doctors to tell her she was depressed and a child in growing psycho killer to be, but Lydia never listened. She always drowned herself in meaningless fairy tales, like The Little Mermaid, or even Mythology to help pass the time but.. The urge to kill was always stronger.

Her parents died at a young age, and she went to foster home to foster home, almost every single day. The longest in a family was a month before they were frightened of her; but really, she did nothing.

Lydia's eighteen, and she still loses herself into Mythology books, when she enters a dark room with the plastic all around, the plastic making crumble sounds as her flats walked on them, the way her body moves with the plastic over her own body, her brown book in hand. It was a huge one, it was filled with many, many stories about Mythology and it was her second copy that she went through, practically destroying the first one because of how much she read it. Not her fault.

Her flats barely make any sounds itself, it's all the plastic.

"Banshee's are a female spirit. A wailing woman." She began, ignoring the muffled screams of the person in the middle of her room, "A Banshee shrieks for Royal blood members who are about to die." She pauses, turning her head ever so slightly, "Banshee's don't predict _danger_. _._ "

Her book closed, her body moved gracefully, and she tucked away blonde locks from a muffled woman, tape across her mouth, the mascara running from her eyes, Lydia whispers ever so slightly when leaned to the woman's ears, "They predict _death_."

And then the room is painted in the red crimson color, the iron smelling and tasting that identified it as blood.

People knew Lydia Martin as the Banshee.


End file.
